


Futile

by irllax



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, One Shot, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 06:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9060631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irllax/pseuds/irllax
Summary: Ciel.The love of my life, the depth of my misery.The emotional violence this boy had me consume, willingly, with every fiber of my body.This was and is Ciel Phantomhive.And he is the reason for my ruin.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bitterblackrabbit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitterblackrabbit/gifts).



Ciel.

The love of my life, the depth of my misery.

The emotional violence this boy had me consume, willingly, with every fiber of my body.

This was and is Ciel Phantomhive.

And he is the reason for my ruin.

 

There are still old scratch marks on my hip from his primly well-kept blunt nails. The color around them somewhere between a crimson red and a slight purple hue. I can see the fatigue in my eyes, the dark patches, blotches of mismatched coloration of skin. I see my pitch black hair falling down to rest on my cheekbones, as I finish combing my fingers through my bangs; the splash of cold water to my face has done nothing to alleviate me of my pain. I still look like I should be attending a funeral, rather than teaching a class. My temporary employment as a professor of human and social sciences at this secondary, independent public school was supposed to have been a bliss;

I was promised tenure within a year, should the prior professor fail to return - my resume was simply that impressive. This sounds like life handed to you on a silver platter. It was. All would have been in the palm of my hand, all would have been perfect ...

If the devil hadn't tempted me with this vicious little delicacy of a 15 year old.

_I am nervous._

_Me, Sebastian Michaelis. I am nervous._

_The psychologist with a degree in sociology, legitimately scared of a class with nothing but youngsters. Teenagers. Hormone raging little impertinent brats._

_It is my first day and I stand on the threshold of the classroom, the mahogany door closed, but the clamour behind it a clear insight into what kind of hell I am about to enter._

_Yet nothing succeeds in calming me more, than knowing, that as soon as I enter the room, the little rats will scurry to their seats and behave like proper little gentlemen. For the most of the time. For such is the well bred hell spawn of the posh in this independent, expensive and old traditional boarding school of the rich and important, in the country that is England ..._

Roll call of the class: a young man gifts me with the smile of a serpent, as his wavy, soft curls bounce slightly with the mention of his name, _Maurice Cole._ The next one looks positively like everything you would describe as text-book cliché trouble, _Cheslock._ Just Cheslock. Next, a petite and blonde haired young man sends me a nervous smile, as he raises his rand carefully when his name is called, _Joanne Harcourt._ The list continues. I pay little attention to each pupil, knowing I need to keep a cool exterior for the first day. And the list continues, Hardy, Isaac, Midford, McMillan ...

"Mr. Phantomhive?" I call out into the room, searching for someone acknowledging the mention of the name. And there, by the window, with eyes fixed on something on the outdoor lawn, a slate haired, fair and petite young man casually waves his hand, absentmindedly adding a, "here."

He doesn't even dignify me with a look, but stays engrossed in his observance of the lawn.

"You will pay attention and firmly state your presence, when asked, young man," I proceed with a glare from over the edge of my glasses. I shouldn't have done that. I just signed my own death, sold my soul to the devil, this was the moment. This was where I had the chance to change the outcome of my future. But I didn't know back then. I didn't know. If only I had.

Those deep cerulean blue orbs pins me to my seat; he turns his eyes towards me, before moving the rest of his body. He stares at me with a cruel and intrigued gaze, while he says nothing. And as he continues to do so, I feel my own cheeks heat up in embarrassment of not coming up with some fast, snappy remark and I curse myself inwardly for slowly losing this silent battle for dominance.

He finally lower his gaze, only to place those delicate little hands on top of his desk, as he pushes his chair back and stands up; the young man, no - honestly! the boy - is of such small and frail looking character, yet everything about him oozes confidence and certainty. Not in a rude and obnoxious way, much like the Cole boy. No, this intriguing little creature demands the attention because he knows he deserves it - even before we have barely spoken a word.

He breathes in slowly and then, from his lips, springs the most childish, yet stoic and proud little voice, making me cower and demanding my gaze to return to him;

"My name is Ciel Phantomhive, son of the Earl of Phantomhive, Vincent Phantomhive. I am 15 years old and I was merely observing the cricket practice outside," he adds the last part with a little smirk, before taunting me, "- as it it pretty significant to this school, I was trying to get ahead on the game, by snooping on the rivaling teams' practice. Will _that_ be sufficient, _Professor Michaelis?"_ He watches me like a hunter does their pray, to see if any part of me will flinch at his crude remark or comment on that sly little smile upon his lips. Ciel Phantomhive knows how to play this game, and by observing alone his attitude, he is used to winning, too.

"That will be sufficient, young man. Return to your seat, Phantomhive," my voice seethes, before returning to roll call and ignoring the boy for the remainder of so.

The rest of class would have been an easy job, had it not been for an annoyingly oblivious gathering of pupils. Then again, new subject, but basics had to be studied beforehand. And whom but my wicked little blue eyed angel to casually raise his hand at every question or so?

"Anyone?"

_Anyone else?_

"Yes, Phantomhive?"

"Well, Mr. Michaelis," he would begin his reply, then add a twisted little grin right after adressing me with his favourite honorifics of the moment; "Professor, Michaelis, Mister, Sebastian," last mentioned delivered while a pencil rested lazily on his lower lip, one eyebrow raised and a lopsided smirk slowly revealed those pearly whites. To top off the excruciating experience of having said imp whisper my given name, that pencil slid closer and closer to that taunting little pink muscle hiding within--

I splash another handful of cold water unto my face. I run my hand down my face to expose what was once vibrant maroon eyes, now so dull and somewhat lifeless. The memory of the first time I met the boy washes over me with such detail, it is almost tactile. I know what that tongue feels like _now._ I know what it _tastes_ like. I slide my hand further down, and I am reminded of his possessive and absolutely divine ruthlessness, as I gaze upon old scars from mark after mark, marring my pale throat and collarbone.

_Mine, mine, mine._

 After two weeks of mischievous classroom shenanigans, the boy had me cornered. His motives for such schemes, I still don't know them. Perhaps he was curious, perhaps he was just young. Perhaps be wanted to push the boundaries for the sake of pushing them, to see how far and well he could manipulate another human being. He never took to any task with carelessness or cruelty, though. Despite being a devious little imp, the boy was never pure evil.

His hips, definitely carved from sin, swayed slightly as he approached my desk. He had been polite enough to knock, but not state his name, when he came to my office one dreadful friday night. Most students had left for the weekend, given it was a spring bank holiday the following Monday.

Ciel hadn't left.

He now stood dead center in front of me, in my office. And I had been stupid enough to welcome the devil to step over my threshold. And he was staring me down again.

"Anything I can help you with, Mr. Phantomhive?"

"Please, call me Ciel. I believe we have crossed the lines of formalities several times already?"

The boy strayed from his spot and started running those delicate, nimble fingers over the spines of my many books. Eventually he would stop in conversation to gaze upon a specific title, then return to his, obviously, less than innocent little scheme for his visit. _I know that now at least._ Without further ado, the boy pulled out a book and whispered, reciting beautifully;

 

_"Thou wast all that to me, love, for which my soul did pine-_

_a green isle in the sea, love, a fountain and a shrine,_

_all wreathed with fairy fruits and flowers, and all the flowers were mine."_

 

He would eventually pause to catch his breath, as he let those cerulean blues gaze into my own maroon red, again, pinning me to the seat, his gaze containing nothing but mirth.

Fine. So be it. It takes two to play this game, and I accept your challenge, young Phantomhive.

_How incredibly stupid of me._

Eventually he would let his eyes roam the page, until he again put voice to his selected poem;

 

 _"And all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams-"_  he continued, his eyes sliding shut ever so gently -

 _"- are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams,"_ I decided to finish for him, none of our eyes gray, yet Ciel being the one with the closest resemblance.

"You dream of me, Michaelis?" the boy inquired.

"You quote Edgar Allan Poe on a daily basis? Like all the other 15 year old around here, hm?" I retorted sarcastically, before finally standing tall in front of the boy, snatching the book from his hands. His height reached me to about my shoulders. With a pout he folded his arms across his chest and eyed me with that slightly annoyed gaze, which he reserves for when he acts offended, but really isn't.

"Well, whatever your reason for knocking on my door at 7pm on a Friday night, I guess a cup of tea is in order. Any preferences?"

"Earl gray, milk, four teaspoons of sugar," he demanded, making no move to help with the tea. The little king plopped down in my main office chair instead, spinning it around for good measure.

"I take it you're not leaving for the bank holiday then, ... Ciel?"

"No. Both my parents are away on a break of their own, and being able to roam the school without any other idiots to bother me, it seems like the perfect holiday, to me," he replied with a boring tone at first, but not missing the chance to point out exactly how quiet the vast space of the entire boarding school would be, for the next three days.

He sipped at his tea in silence for a little while. I let him come to terms with his reason for being here, on his own, simply awaiting him to tell me of his own volition. Of course, this wasn't the way Ciel Phantomhive chose to play this game.

"Sebastian ..." a small whisper sounded close by. Ciel had abandoned his head post at the desk, to slide next to me on the couch, where I had been reclining with tea and said poems of Poe, awaiting the boy's continuation.

Ciel slipped down next to me, hands folded in his lap. It took him all but four seconds to relinquish his faux innocence and send me one of his selected few lidded stares. I choked.

"Se-bas-ti-an," he let each syllable caress his lips as he continued to glare at me with something akin to hunger. And for a split second I wondered if this behavior of his was something new, something he was testing, if he had seduced others - because despite his young age, Ciel very well knew his effect and impact on me.

"That is my given name, yes," I snapped slightly, just to coax a reaction from him.

"Close your eyes," Ciel demanded.

"Why?"

"Just do it. That's an order," he stated firmly and glared at me until I gave in.

I never knew where he got this bold and daring confidence from, because to me he looked so fragile and helpless sometimes, like he was in need of some entity to loom over him constantly, to assess him and help him with basic daily tasks, to protect him. Yet in these moments, he exuded desire and power - and unfortunately I gave in. I loved every second of it. I still do. I wish it would last forever, but fuck, I wish I weren't this miserable.

I felt his supple thighs place themselves on either side of my own, the boy suddenly straddling my lap. As I began to voice my complaint of the inappropriate position, he shushed me, one of his little fingers pressed against my lips; with eyes closed, the shock of feeling him this physically close had an immediate effect on keeping me quiet.

Why didn't I remove him from my lap?

I still search for that answer.

Slender fingers roamed gently over my face, caressing, pulling me in deeper and deeper. His small hums on satisfaction, my own small sighs of being content; with each sigh, Ciel grew more bold in his moves and I fell further down the rabbit hole.

"Sebastian -" he purred in my ear, before nuzzling his nose into my temple, probably trying to hide his blush in the strands of my long bangs. His scent was so delicate, it made me lick my teeth in appreciation. That scent which clearly stuck to his skin, his now bared throat and neck, which was being awfully close to my own lips.

"S-sebastian," he whispered again, face still stuffed into my temple, but this time his hands roamed closer to my lips again, carefully circling them, never touching. I felt my own breathing becoming slightly labored, and some part of me begged for sweet, sweet release already. It took all but three words to unravel all of my desires;

"Taste me, Sebastian," the boy whispered and let two of his fingers slide unto my lower lip.

And I complied. And the darkness of the rabbit hole swallowed me up completely.

The two petite fingers slid into my mouth slowly, and I let my tongue taste every inch of them, all of the flavours he had to offer; sugar from the tea moments ago, citrus oil from some orange he probably ate earlier, some significant flavour that was entirely and only his ...

His low pants and whimpers sounded like the sweetest music to me already. And despite fleeting moral thoughts of being used, being seduced, being coaxed into this passed me by ... despite the depravity of someone 15 years older that this boy was now, in quite the erotic display, sucking on a set of said boy's two fingers, all while the little devil moaned low and purred into my ear ... despite all this, I knew this was a temptation which catered to my every kink, my every wretched and amoral need. This boy, this walking kink on legs, this hell spawn, this, this ...

This absolutely magnificent being.

And Ciel had me, Sebastian Michaelis, his professor, undone in record time.

Slick fingers were pulled from my mouth and by instinct I opened my eyes. In front of me was a blushing mess with freshly bitten lips. This mess, Ciel, testing all my boundaries. And he continued to do so, as he slid the slicked fingers into his own mouth and sucked them greedily. Surely, by his body's own accord, he rolled his hips on top of mine in the same moment, the much needed friction making us both gasp slightly.

Ciel continued to roll his hips, despite he knew very well the effect it had on me. Vicious little imp. While deliberately letting the tip of his tongue caress the tip of his finger to rile me up, he let his other hand slide down the chest of my black dress dress shirt. Another roll of his hips had me absentmindedly thrusting back, which clearly took the boy by surprise,

"Ah!" he moaned, eyes closed, fingers slipping from his mouth, which left it agape for me to spot that delectable tongue. Me, now with a desperate need to know what this part of him taste like. I feel his own hips desperately gyrating for more friction. Such a tempting display, I wanted to indulge. And so I did.

I latched unto the collar of the boy's shirt and pulled him in for a deep kiss.

His open mouth and already slicked lips slid easily on top of my own, my tongue immediately darting out to taste him. Being ever the apt little student, Ciel's own tongue quickly followed and slid on top of my own, underneath it, everywhere. And oh, how delicious he tasted. I wanted to devour him instantly. I cradled his head close with my other hand, sliding it through his slate gray locks, unintentionally pulling at the strands, while I was still clutching him close by his collar. Every move made the boy gasp, every brush of tongue or mischievous bite of lip sent him whimpering;

It was already quite clear to me by now - Ciel had never done this before. He had selected me as some specimen he needed to test and try out - and I reveled in every second of it.

And kisses turned to touches, touches to teeth, bite marks to heavily panted breaths and improper, yet deliciously relieving touches. Ciel tried to assert some sort of dominance still, but became a whimpering and writhing mess the instant my hand slipped between his legs and touched upon his clothed and strained, erect cock.

"Oh, f-fuck, Sebastian," he moaned and kissed me even fiercer.

It took all about a minute to have the poor boy screaming my name as he came, his hips still rocking and gyrating lazily into my hand as he rode out his climax, while his small kisses were everywhere on my face.

 

_This was the first time._

_It wasn't the last._

 

Over the months he tainted me with all of his deliciously addictive poison, the poison that was his entire being, everything that made him Ciel was like a poison without an antidote to me. And I swallowed it all down like small children's craving for candy.

I had him in all ways possible; I made him cry when I told him we needed to stop this dangerous game. He begged me that we could continue and try to work it out somehow, despite the magnificent mess we had made for ourselves. I had never heard the boy beg before, this was a first. So I gave in, like I always do. And we continued our games within the shadows;

I recall making him scream with pleasure as I whipped him to completion, in another indulgent little game of ours: I had him bending over my office desk in nothing but his crumpled white dress shirt, his tweed shorts hanging about his ankles. He rutted himself against the desk as he cried out number after number, counting the hits. It was our perverted little teacher and student game. And on the count of ten I gave in and fucked him mercilessly, had him in every depraved way I wanted to, because it just felt that good. It was like being in a heightened state. It was like my life finally made some sense to me, outside of pointless and superficial must-be's like work for making a living. Honestly, even the school and the teaching didn't intrigue me anymore. This was the wondrous conundrum of it all; the thing I shouldn't be having at all, was the only thing that made me truly free and truly happy.

I made him happy too, when I told him of all the exciting and, honestly, rather impossible and childish scenarios I thought we'd enjoy together. I saw the rarest thing, which I never saw him do anywhere else but with me; I saw Ciel smile, genuinely.

He made me happy too. He made me see sides of myself I never thought I would encounter. He made me realise I was a cruel and selfish human being, but that this wasn't necessarily a bad thing; every time his small hands slid up my side, every time he would wink at me in class, every time he would make insinuations of whatever lewd image or scenario had entered his mind, every time he did this, he reminded me of everything I was, everything we were, and everything we would never be. He possessed me in ways, mentally, where I knew I would never be able to escape his wickedly wonderful little being. He would always be there, somewhere in my mind. No matter how far away he was. No matter how close.

I would always be his option, because he was young and had his whole life ahead of him.

He would always be my priority, because I was older and felt my life running out of time. I wanted to indulge, so I did. I did with everything I had.

 

_I loved the boy._

_I, Sebastian Michaelis, fell in love with Ciel Phantomhive._

 

And here I stand today; throwing water in my face to try and calm my nerves, before a simple class. This is the first time I will see him in a week or so. If he even still goes to this school. I didn't check any registers. I deliberately didn't check the name roster I picked up this morning, because I was afraid his name wouldn't be there.

I got too involved. We were at the brink of being found out by friends, parents, the school. My mental state had depleted to being of one single concern; _Ciel._

So I did what every reasonable adult should do.

I continued indulging. In everything else _but_ the boy. I took some short time off to figure out myself. The escape I had planned for us together ended up being for me alone. I hated every minute of it. I hated every second he wasn't in my presence. I hated remembering the tactile feel of his pert lips upon mine. I hated all the memories of him, because they were like a poison slowly eating away at me - damage over time, just slowly dissolving me and him into nothing. I hate it with a passion. Because I could never have it. I could never possess that boy entirely. He would never be mine.

I know what we are now.

After realising my love for the boy, I finally realised that we were never anything at all.

We are an enigma.

And we were always _futile._

 

**Author's Note:**

> Poem recited in this fic is: To One in Paradise by Edgar Allan Poe
> 
> Edit note, January 17th 2017: Changed the rating to Mature, as I realised it really didn't contain any explicit content, despite the quick flashback, which didn't really contain any hardcore visual descriptions.


End file.
